A Home is a House Your Heart Makes
by Citizenjess
Summary: One Padawan's efforts to make a shared living space, well, liveable.


Summary: Despite Qui-Gon's best efforts, Obi-Wan tries to make their shared living space, well, liveable. Written for patientalien, and based on a true story (oooh).

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**A Home is a House Your Heart Makes**

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There was no set age for when a Senior Padawan must move in with his or her Master, but Obi-Wan was pretty sure something was wrong when Qui-Gon allowed his sixteenth and seventeenth birthdays to go by without offering him the spare bedroom in his apartment. Still, Obi-Wan reacted well to shame, and the fact that he was practically twice the age of some of his fellow Padawans in the Temple dormitories was what finally spurred him to action.

"Master," he queried on a rare occasion when he and Qui-Gon were sharing a meal in the cafeteria after a mission. "I've been thinking that perhaps it would be more convenient if ... well, if we lived together."

Qui-Gon didn't say anything for several moments, and Obi-Wan was almost going to check that he hadn't fallen asleep staring into his teacup. Finally, his Master yawned. "Sure. Why not."

It wasn't exactly the celebratory reaction that Obi-Wan had hoped for, but he pasted a polite smile on his face nonetheless. "I'll bring my things over this afternoon if that's all right."

"Hmmm," Qui-Gon mumbled.

* * *

Qui-Gon wasn't at home when Obi-Wan dragged his first box of sparse belongings across the Temple. When he did show up, hours after the kind of-agreed-upon time and quite happily reeking of alcohol, he seemed to have forgotten all about the conversation at lunch. "What're you doin' here, Pad'wan?" he slurred.

Obi-Wan tried not to look aggrieved. "Master, you remember that we decided I would move in today." Qui-Gon swayed in his spot and didn't answer. "This afternoon. At lunch. You said it was all right, and I have everything packed and I thought we could do our evening meditation together ..." He trailed off, trying not to cry.

Slowly, his Master blinked. Then he did it again, and then a third time, and then he burped and fingered his slovenly half-ponytail before making a charitable effort to straighten up. "S'okay, let's do it," he said, and Obi-Wan resisted the urge to bounce in place and hug him.

Obi-Wan had been inside Qui-Gon's living quarters before, but it had always been for incidental or special cases. He noticed that his Master had a habit of leaving dirty dishes scattered about, and the entire front room looked like it could benefit from a hearty dusting. Obi-Wan had always been a rather meticulous person, but instead of being disheartened by the state of Qui-Gon's apartment, he felt invigorated. Here, in a small yet extremely intimate way, he could make himself useful to his Master. He would be important to Qui-Gon; cherished, even. He vowed to wake up early the next morning so he could tidy up before going to class.

He heard a scraping sound and watched his Master noncommittally trying to ... kick, apparently, his box of belongings across the threshold, taking special pains not to use his hands. Obi-Wan swiftly walked over and picked it up, and Qui-Gon grinned drunkenly at him. "Yeah, we did it."

* * *

Qui-Gon fairly well ignored him for the evening, and he was asleep - and snoring loudly - on the couch when Obi-Wan woke up the next morning. He cleaned up, all around his apparently exhausted Master, still taking special pains not to make too much noise. When he returned to the apartment late in the afternoon, skipping a bit up the hallway at the sheer novelty of it, he was fairly certain his Master had left again. Save for some newly-made garbage on Qui-Gon's caf table (which Obi-Wan promptly cleaned up), there was little sign of him.

That is, until Obi-Wan made his way to his new room, and found Qui-Gon there, eyeing everything. "Master, I didn't know you were home," Obi-Wan managed, jumping a little.

Qui-Gon stroked his chin. "'s is Xanatos' room," he murmured, not seeming to notice Obi-Wan at all.

Obi-Wan tried to contain his irritation. "Yes, it was Xanatos' room," he frowned. "Several years ago, in fact. I found some very old ... belongings of his in here." Said belongings had been stained with something of an origin Obi-Wan wished to only guess at, and he had taken an almost malicious delight in dragging them out to one of the strategically-placed dump sites on Temple grounds. He may have stabbed one through with his lightsaber. Or two. Or five.

"Hmmm," Qui-Gon murmured noncommittally, and Obi-Wan stood uncomfortably, watching him linger. Eventually, Qui-Gon's gaze moved towards the small closet area. "I had some ... materials in here," his Master rumbled softly. "Did you move them?"

Obi-Wan blanched. "The, ah, the papers, Master? The ones with the, erm, the ladies on them?" Qui-Gon continued to stare at him. "I, I threw them out, Master," he swallowed. "They looked very old, and very crumpled, and they were in Xanatos' old room, so I assumed they were ... Xanatos' ... Master, I'm, I'm sorry ..."

"Hmmm," Qui-Gon responded again, and Obi-Wan was beginning to wonder if that was all he did. In as little fanfare as he could possibly muster, Qui-Gon left the room, leaving Obi-Wan blinking and bewildered on Xanatos' old cot.

* * *

Obi-Wan usually went to bed well before his Master did. He was one of the Temple's few occupants who legitimately enjoyed being awake at dawn, refreshed and ready to start a new day, though it required a lack of appreciation for the somewhat earlier activities in which most of the not-early birds partook. Obi-Wan's fellow Padawan, Garen Muln, for example, was rarely considered alive until well after lunch-time.

Just because Obi-Wan went to bed at a decent hour, however, did not mean that he always fell asleep immediately. It was difficult to clear his mind and sink into slumber when every new interaction with Qui-Gon sent him skittering into a corner to take the conversation apart and wonder how he could have reacted differently. He frequently felt as though he had upset his Master, but Qui-Gon rarely validated his anxiety either with an appropriate correction or an assurance that, in fact, Obi-Wan wasn't the galaxy's worst apprentice. In fact, Qui-Gon preferred not to validate his existence much at all. At times, Obi-Wan wondered whether Qui-Gon remembered that he had a Padawan, or at least one after his disastrous attempt at training Xanatos.

On this particular night, he was lying in bed, staring up at the ceiling, when he instinctively felt a presence on the other side of his door. He perked up, both surprised and expecting Qui-Gon to be standing on the other side.

His Master let himself in. "My Padawan," he murmured, and it was so much more ... affectionate than usual that Obi-Wan thought he might sob. He began to reply when Qui-Gon added, "Xanatos."

"Oh," Obi-Wan breathed, disappointed and angry. As a slant of light illuminated his Master, Obi-Wan could see that he looked particularly disheveled, to say nothing of the smell of the drink Qui-Gon favored at the Outlander. His eyes were half-open and bloodshot. "Master, I think you've had too much to drink tonight."

"Mmm." That was when Obi-Wan noticed Qui-Gon's sizeable erection tenting his leggings. He squawked Qui-Gon's name and title a few more times until Qui-Gon blinked, as though he were coming out of a trance. "Obi-Wan?" he mumbled around what was probably a swelled tongue.

"Yes, Master." Obi-Wan was hesitant to say anything else. Faintly, he wondered what would have happened had he allowed the ruse to continue, but another quick, terrified glance at his Master's monster boner pushed any such notions out of his mind.

"So ..." Qui-Gon said suddenly. Surprised, Obi-Wan looked up, hoping, wondering, aching for a scrap of attention that was apparently only reserved for Qui-Gon's former, mentally unwound, now-dead apprentice. "So," Qui-Gon said again, "... so yeah." He fumbled back out of the room, still not quite flaccid, and Obi-Wan shoved his head into his blankets and let out a muffled scream.

* * *

Qui-Gon never mentioned his night-time escapades to Obi-Wan (or anyone else, as far as Obi-Wan knew) again, and so Obi-Wan thought it was probably a good idea not to bring them up either. Instead, he continued trying to earn his Master's love by being helpful. Qui-Gon didn't seem to notice or care that his home no longer looked like a sty, but he occasionally mumbled something that sounded appreciative when Obi-Wan cooked dinner. Thus, food became something that bonded them. Qui-Gon even began asking Obi-Wan to make a grocery list every other week, probably so he didn't forget that he had an ever-growing teenager living with him and would need something more nutritious than Alderaanian wine.

"Master, we're out of spread," Obi-Wan told him on the eve of one of Qui-Gon's trips to the store. "You've forgotten it the last couple of times, and so I've written it at the top of the datapad and even circled it. See?" He showed him, and Qui-Gon patted him on the head as though he thought Obi-Wan was a nekk puppy. (Possibly, he did, Obi-Wan suspected.)

Obi-Wan mostly forgot about the exchange until much later when he needed spread to grease the pan for the dish he was making. Cautiously, he opened the cooling unit, and was pleased to see the small, tell-tale container inside. He tore off the wrapping and prepared to dip into it, but then stopped when he heard an inhuman wail.

"NOOOOOO, Obi-Wan!"

"Master! What is it? What's wrong?" He set the container down quickly, stunned at his Master's abrupt entrance, to say nothing of his reaction. Faintly, he wondered if this was how it felt to be caught masturbating. He didn't know from personal experience, but Garen and Siri had foisted retellings of their own close-calls on him enough for him to make the connection.

Qui-Gon didn't seem to notice how horrified his Padawan was. In fact, aside from his howling scant moments before, he now seemed perfectly calm. "You're not doing it right," he said politely. "You've gotta attack it from the center first. It's what Xanatos did," Qui-Gon added matter-of-factly.

"Of course it was," Obi-Wan muttered unhappily. He watched dubiously as Qui-Gon reached in front of him and picked up the small container.

"Here, I'll show you," his Master volunteered. He grabbed up a piece of cutlery and, before long, had positively mutilated the once-untouched spread. Obi-Wan supposed it would still be good to consume, but it looked positively disgusting now.

"There," Qui-Gon said happily, handing the container back to Obi-Wan. "All better." He sauntered out of the kitchen, his hand creeping down into his pants. "Make sure you use more cooking sherry," he offered, a final critique of Obi-Wan's cooking savvy. "I didn't feel drunk at all the last time."

* * *

The more Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan settled into the domesticity of co-existing, the less Qui-Gon left their shared apartment. Probably it was because food was readily available there now without him having to do anything, but in any case, Obi-Wan was pleased with the change. Sometimes, Qui-Gon even invited him to meditate or watch something on the holovision together. The arrangement was wonderful. Or so Obi-Wan thought.

Along with Qui-Gon's new homebody tendency came his increasing dependence on Obi-Wan. At first, Obi-Wan enjoyed cooking and cleaning for his Master, even though Qui-Gon rarely verbalized his appreciation for such things. When his Master started making comments and even corrections, Obi-Wan was simply elated for the attention. He soon realized the downside to being one of Qui-Gon Jinn's primary concerns, however.

"You're looking a little fat," Qui-Gon told him, leering at Obi-Wan's backside while his Padawan put dishes away. "Xanatos was never fat."

"I'm sorry, Master," Obi-Wan said automatically, ignoring the comparison but inwardly seething about it all the same. "Perhaps my exercise regimen isn't appropriate. I'll improve myself."

Qui-Gon's nitpicking escalated quickly. "Do you always have to make so much noise when you flush the 'fresher?" he complained from the couch one evening, a few weeks later. "I'm trying to watch 'Rogue Jedi' and I can't even hear it with all your noise."

"I'm sorry, Master." Flustered, Obi-Wan began timing his bowel movements so as to not interfere with Qui-Gon's increased presence in the apartment. Occasionally, if it really could not wait, he would hurry to one of the communal bathrooms around the Temple. Sometimes, he would stay over at Garen's so he could make in relative peace. Garen's own Master, Clee Rhara, was rarely on Coruscant, given her notable presence in the Order's Jedi starship piloting program, so nobody seemed to notice much what company Garen kept. Increasingly, such visits became regular, until Garen sarcastically invited Obi-Wan to move in. "C'mon, Oafy. It's either this, or Tachi listens to you poop instead."

"I think she has better things to do with her time," Obi-Wan said sourly. "And she's the only one."

* * *

The last straw was when Obi-Wan made a rare appearance at his and Qui-Gon's apartment to do some laundry. The rooms were eerily quiet, which in Obi-Wan's experience meant something was terribly wrong. The sense of danger was heightened when he realized that his bedroom door was open ajar. He always closed it before he left every day.

Palming it the rest of the way open, Obi-Wan was fully faced with the cause of his trepidation. "Hey, Padawan," Qui-Gon grinned at him, though Obi-Wan could mostly see his ass. He also noticed a thatch of hair that wasn't Qui-Gon's, and eventually, the woman attached to it.

"Hello, Obi-Wan," Tahl, his friend Bant's Master said cheerfully. Her face was flushed, and Obi-Wan imagined the worst. "How's school going, kiddo?"

"... really?" Obi-Wan managed. With a disgusted sigh, he turned on his heel, resisting the urge to throw something at his Master when Qui-Gon called, "Hey, wait, we'll be finished in like, twenty -"

"Two," Tahl corrected him sweetly.

"- two minutes. You can wash this blanket for us."

"I'm moving out," Obi-Wan called, but he was fairly certain nobody heard him over the sound of his Master's orgasm.

* * *

It always annoyed Anakin how anal-retentive his Master was about cleanliness. 'Don't put your boots up on the caf table, Anakin.' 'Wash your hands before supper, Anakin.' 'Don't urinate in the shower, Anakin.' It was like he'd never been a teenager or something.

"Anakin, can you get me the spread out of the cooling unit?" Obi-Wan's back was turned, but he sensed his Padawan skulking around the kitchen, his stomach ever-demanding whatever Obi-Wan cooked. Anakin usually only told Obi-Wan how much he appreciated things like clean laundry and a fresh meal when he was trying to get out of trouble - it would be a few years yet before he learned to negotiate using sex acts as currency, naturally - but he knew Obi-Wan knew that he liked them all the same.

Still, he made a show of being surly. "'Kay," he muttered, palming open the cooling unit and Force-floating the spread over to the counter where Obi-Wan was standing. He smirked when Obi-Wan shot him a glare, and then watched with the same awe and confusion he always did as his Master proceeded to mutilate the middle section of the new container of spread with his knife. "Master, why do you always do that?" he asked.

Obi-Wan squared his shoulders. "Because ... Xanatos did," he replied simply.


End file.
